Amsterdam is many things: bikes, brownies, and baffling laws about what you can sell but not grow. But for most visitors, there’s one thing they tiptoe around, giggle about, or dive into headfirst: the Red Light District.

So let’s get the awkward bit out of the way.

Did I hire a sex worker in Amsterdam?

Well… it depends how you define “hire.”

We did pay to speak with one. We did walk into her brothel, sit in her workspace, and ask deeply personal questions. And we did leave with a whole new perspective on what it means to sell sex.

But no, we didn’t hire her. Not in the way your jaw might’ve just dropped.
Still curious? Thought so. Keep reading.

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The Tour That Changed Everything

It started with a walking tour. We booked it half out of curiosity, half because it felt like the only responsible way to explore the Red Light District without being total gawking tourists.

And I’m so glad we did. What I thought would be a sleazy peek behind the curtain turned into a crash course in culture, legality, ethics, and some truly unfiltered human stories.

I wasn’t sure what to expect from the Red Light District, but it definitely wasn’t this. I’d always pictured red light districts as shadowy, slightly dangerous places, the kind you avoid unless you’re up to no good. But in Amsterdam? It’s the opposite. This isn’t some dodgy back alley, it’s a pulsing, central part of the city, packed with tourists, souvenir shops, stroopwafel stands, and families pushing prams. It feels oddly… normal. And that contrast is what makes it so fascinating.

There’s a kindergarten nestled between two rows of red-lit doors. A church marking the centre of the district. The first-ever condom shop with novelty designs I won’t describe in case my mum’s reading.

I won’t lie, it baffled me. But during the tour, there was laughter, there was discomfort. And then… there was her.

Behind the Red Curtain

She stood in a plain, clinical room with a plastic-covered bed and paper sheets like you’d find at a doctor’s surgery. There were red lights, yes, but the mood was more “budget gynaecologist” than boudoir.

Originally from Romania, she told us how she’d come to Amsterdam to make quick money. In her early days, she’d earn around €1,000 a night, but her spending rose with her income. Now she works three to four nights a week to keep up with her lavish lifestyle. She doesn’t need to work long hours since her rates are €300 per 30 minutes. She rents the space from the brothel owner, pays tax like any self-employed person, and operates with full legal protection.

She told us that Tinder and the hookup culture had cut into business. That men now expect sex to be “free,” never mind the emotional, mental, and sometimes physical toll. She told us about her boundaries, her routines, and the weirdest request she’s ever fulfilled:
€900 to walk a man around on all fours, like a dog. For three hours. Fully clothed.

No, she didn’t do anything else. And no, she didn’t judge him.

And that’s the thing, none of it felt seedy. It felt… honest.

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So… Is It Right?

Here’s the question that sat with me for days:
Can a transaction still be ethical when it involves sex?

In Amsterdam, prostitution is legal, regulated, and safer than in most parts of the world. There are no pimps. The girls have panic buttons. STD rates are lower than average. Health checks are mandatory. Violence is rare, because the law protects sex workers as much as it protects you or me.

However, would I ever do it?
No.
Can I judge someone else for choosing to sell their body?
Also no. I haven’t walked in their shoes.

Does it make me a little sad that anyone feels this is their best option?
Yes, if I’m honest, because I still believe that for many, there’s more to the story. Maybe it’s survival. Maybe it’s limited opportunities. Maybe it’s just a complex set of reasons we’ll never fully understand.

And yet… that doesn’t make them wrong. It just makes this one of those things that lives in the grey.

But we can’t exactly point fingers at Amsterdam when we have escort agencies in the UK doing the same thing.
The difference in the UK, however, is that while selling sex isn’t illegal, almost everything surrounding it is. Brothel-keeping. Soliciting. Even sharing a space with another worker for safety.

That kind of legal grey area doesn’t protect women, it pushes them underground. Isolated. Vulnerable. Criminalised for trying to stay safe.

Peep Shows and Perspective

We didn’t stop at the brothel. Of course not. We also went to a peep show (more hilarious than erotic), an erotic museum (like an awkward GCSE art exhibit), and a live sex show. Which, by the way, was the most bizarre blend of aerobics and absurd theatre I’ve ever seen.

The performers were polished, the routines clearly rehearsed, and audience participation was thankfully PG. Think strippers, banana acts, and a rotating cast of curious tourists whispering “did that really just happen?”

It was surreal. And funny. And somehow… not nearly as shocking as I’d expected.

Red Lights, Green Flags?

Walking through the district at night, I watched the women in the windows. Some sultry. Some on their phones. Some reapplying lip gloss or adjusting lingerie. Occasionally, a man would step in. Minutes later, he’d re-emerge, and the woman would return to her post. Polished. Professional. Efficient.

And yes, there’s still a sadness to it. Or maybe that’s just projection. But for some of these women, this is work. Just… work.

The fact that they can do it safely, legally, and without shame? That’s not a red flag. That’s a green one.

Final Thoughts

No, I didn’t hire a hooker. But I did come away with a whole new view of sex work. One that doesn’t reduce it to desperation or glamour. One that understands it as a job with risks, rights, and real people behind it.

Amsterdam reminded me that judgement is often just ignorance in disguise. That it’s easy to write off what we don’t understand. And that the truth is often far more nuanced than the lie.

Would I go back? Yes, but not for the windows!